


Flowers for the Dead

by championbash



Series: Wolfsbane Quote Challenge [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Genderfluid Character, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, a whole bunch of minor character death, aiza'n is a hypocrite, i'll make sure of it, it's off screen but the mc is hurting anyway, that's not tag now but it will be one day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29516619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/championbash/pseuds/championbash
Summary: “Memorials and flowers have never been for the dead. They’re for the living. There is no gesture emptier than ensuring more decay somewhere that was not meant to be a graveyard.” Aiza’n wasn’t looking at Kol anymore, but rather at some point back down the empty road. “Your friends won’t know what you’re doing for them, let alone thank you.”-Loss is the only constant in some lives. What changes is how it's dealt with.
Series: Wolfsbane Quote Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166327





	Flowers for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> So,,,despite this being posted first, this was actually the piece I wrote for my second round of a quote challenge I invented! The first one is...long, and still being tinkered around with, so this one is going out publicly first.  
> Technically, the prompt now counts as filled, since I've finished the piece inspired by the quote, but I figured it might be fun to have a go at this quote for all the main characters of 'Wolfsbane', so each chapter after the first will be a bonus! When I get around to it.
> 
> Anyway, this piece is set relatively close to the beginning of the novel, shortly after Kol and the rest of the crew have started travelling home after the assassination of Kol's squad (one that Kol and Grym shouldn't have survived). I thought it might be interesting to write as a character who is wholly devoted to his country's military regime who is experiencing loss for the first time, but I suppose I can't be the one to judge if it actually is interesting or not.
> 
> I'm aware that a VANISHINGLY small number of people will see this but hey, if you do so happen to enjoy, a lil feedback will feed my soul endlessly and forever. Much love!
> 
> PS- don't hate Aiza'n too much for their harshness. I promise they're actually a good person, they're just,,,incredibly blunt, and Kol doesn't know them well enough to see it as anything more than assholery. Which, yeah, they coulda been a whole lot nicer about it, but if they were then it wouldn't be Aiza'n now, would it?

* * *

_Who wants flowers when they're dead? Nobody._

**\- J.D. Salinger** , The Catcher in the Rye

* * *

The stretch of road Kol chose was unremarkable, completely indistinguishable from the miles they’d already travelled. But it was the stretch of road that saw him finally steady enough on his feet that he could stand and stare blankly in the direction they’d come from without his legs shaking out from underneath him.

It still didn’t feel quite real. None of it had, from the moment Kol had opened his eyes the morning after he was supposed to die. Nearly _had_ died, just like the others had. The bandages holding one side of his face together kept reminding him, the pain of the ragged slash underneath a constant thud at the same rhythm of his heartbeat.

Grym still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Somehow, out of everything, that was what hurt the most.

The rocks he’d chosen for the pyres felt odd under his hands as he piled them together, knees in the dirt next to them. Logically, Kol knew that they couldn’t be that different from the rocks in Roqir, but something about them sat weirdly where he piled them. Almost as if the world was completely determined to remind him just how far from home he was. It was a ridiculous thought, rocks couldn’t be _sentient,_ let alone actively malicious, but Kol couldn’t shake the feeling no matter how many times he scrubbed the tears from his eyes.

Kol wasn’t sure how far they’d travelled from the rest of the squad, or whether this would count as a memorial or just meaningless piles of stones on some empty, anonymous road. He wasn’t even sure where they were in the Vale Empire anymore. But in the panic after the attack, the rush to get away so that _somebody_ survived to return home, he hadn’t stopped to notice just how far down the hollowness had set in.

Five pyres for five lives taken.

Death is a natural progression from war. Kol knew that, as did every soldier. It was written deep into their bones - knowledge that one day they would have a _last_ day, and it was coming for them whether they were ready or not. But knowing it and living it were two very different things, and Kol was almost certain that glory didn’t feel this empty. And this hadn’t been _war_ . This had been a lie, a knife in the back from a smiling stranger they hadn’t known not to trust. This hadn’t been _fair_.

The tears he’d been trying to deny burned tracks down his face as Kol curled inwards, sucking in air like his lungs had forgotten how to breathe, hands white-knuckled around the last rock of the last pyre.

_It wasn’t fair._

Wildflowers grew everywhere here, and Kol had taken his time picking which ones would go atop the stones. He wondered if he should be saying something as he laid them out, if only to tell the empty air which pyre belonged to who. But any words he could think of got stuck in the vice in his throat, clogging up behind his teeth til it was all he could do just to breathe. What would his pyre look like, when it came to it? What would Grym’s? Would he get flowers too, or would the stones be the only thing to mark that he was here alive at all?

“What are you doing?”

Kol jolted like he’d been burned, the last flower falling short of the pyre he’d been leaning over. His face throbbed white hot as he whipped around, automatically scrabbling for a weapon that wasn’t there, looking for the newest threat.

The bounty hunter was stood behind him, arms folded and eyes heavy as they watched him. They hadn’t made a noise when they’d approached, and Kol had no idea how long they’d been there, not quite looming because of their tiny frame. If they - Aiza’n, that was their name - could see how puffy his eyes were, they didn’t comment on it.

“I’m building pyres,” Kol said after a moment. He didn’t like how weak and scratchy his voice came out, or how flayed open his skin felt under the elf’s eyes, so he turned back to the stones. “They’re for my friends. The ones that died in the ambush.”

Behind him, Aiza’n sniffed. “No, they’re not. They’re for you.”

Kol raised his head again, the heavy fog in his head being shot through with shock. “Excuse me?”

“Memorials and flowers have never been for the dead. They’re for the living. There is no gesture emptier than ensuring more decay somewhere that was not meant to be a graveyard.” Aiza’n wasn’t looking at Kol anymore, but rather at some point back down the empty road. “Your friends won’t know what you’re doing for them, let alone thank you.”

Anger flashed through him, hotter than any pain until Kol was choking on it. Aiza’n didn’t seem fazed as he staggered to his feet, raising an eyebrow in his direction like a disapproving parent.

“And what the fuck would you know about friends? The only ‘friends’ you seem to have didn’t blink twice when you left.” Kol seethed, spitting out his words like his fists weren’t shaking at his sides. 

Aiza’n turned back to stare at him for a long moment, that faraway look still weighing down their gaze. No, not at him. _Through_ him. “I have seen more loss than you would know what to do with. Experience only breeds more pain; it’s better you learn that now than later.”

Their voice was flat, measured, _disinterested,_ but Kol still reeled like he’d been slapped. Who did they think they were, cleaving a path into situations that they decidedly did not belong in? They’d barely just met - how could they possibly think they were entitled to twist the knife deeper? Aiza’n waved a hand when Kol opened his mouth to say so.

“I do not blame you for mourning. Remembering the dead is the only thing that honours them anyway,” they said. “You’re too young to know this now, but trust me when I say that your actions will never go appreciated. If everybody had a pyre when they died, the living would have no choice but to exist in the shadow of their own grief.”

And with that, they were gone. Kol didn’t see exactly how they left, the world gone blurry in a hot haze of tears. He didn’t know he was back on his knees til a dull ache lanced up his legs, and distantly he could hear himself screaming. Low, raw, and loud enough that he was popping the stitches in his face one by one. 

Later, he would go back and find the others, mumbling some apology for taking so long. Aiza’n wouldn’t look up when he reappeared, and Eli would start to make some crack at his expense before stuttering off in wide-eyed shock. Grym would swear, leap to his feet, fuss over Kol and the bright new bloom of blood spread wide over his bandaged face. Nobody would mention what they heard.

But for now, he screamed. He screamed for his friends, for their lives and for their deaths. He screamed til his smoke-damaged lungs filled back up with fire, until he had no breath left to give. But most of all, he screamed for Grym, and for himself, and for the fact they should both be just another pyre on an empty road.

**Author's Note:**

> Quote source: 'The Catcher in the Rye' (J.D. Salinger, 1951)
> 
> Honestly, this is one of my favourite quotes, found when I was an angsty teen and studying English. Now I'm an angsty 20-something, and I still like picking apart the sentiment.  
> I also once got a lecture from my favourite college teacher after he saw the quote sharpie'd onto my arm and he thought I'd tattooed it onto myself. Which wasn't out of character for 18 year old me, so his leap of logic wasn't very far.


End file.
